A/N:  My apologies for the wait.  I've had zero time over the past couple of weeks.  Thanks so much for all the feedback.  Lia, thanks for being so sweet and so damn talented.  And laura mariano!  It's so great to hear from you.  I've always loved reading your comments, and it's nice to know that you're still reading and enjoying.  Arianna, you're so helpful and wonderful, thanks.

Chapter Eight

Eighteen days had passed since she last set foot inside the diner.  He knew it too; he had been keeping track.  Not consciously maybe, but each night as he wiped down the counters or overturned the chairs, the thought would occur to him and he'd pause.  He would shrug it off as soon it came to him as if it were no big deal.  On the weekdays, after all, he couldn't really expect her presence.  It was the weekends that bothered him, though.  Even after he had returned to his current task, her name fading into the background of his mind as more important thoughts surfaced, it stuck with him.  A small nagging at the back of his brain that she wasn't there, and it was all because of him. 

After he had told her to stop all interaction with him, he had expected she would at least still come into the diner, all while avoiding eye contact.  She was supposed to sit in a booth, rattling off her order to the napkin dispenser, her tone even and calm.  She was supposed to wonder how he could look right through her, and never really hear her; how he could cast her aside so easily.  She was supposed to play invisible and be hurt every time she looked at him.  She was the one who was supposed to suffer.

Instead, every time the bell rang above the door, his head would bounce up, checking to see who walked in.  Even though it never registered with him that he was looking for her, the disappointment did.  Each new customer was a tug at his heartstrings, a feeling that ate away at him throughout the day, causing him to end his shift early on more than one occasion.  She was probably at home, reveling in this new technique of torture for him while he was stuck behind the counter, pretending he hadn't brought this upon himself.

He wasn't going to back down from this though.  The more harsh words they exchanged, the worse everything became.  They were never going to forgive and move on if every week they reopened old wounds that had never fully healed in the first place.  Plus, the anger he felt toward her was growing more and more due to things she said now, the things she did now.  He was sure that it was the same for her as well. 

Memories of their last encounter still stung.  He was certain that that had been their worst fight yet.  Cruel words exchanged in a calm voice, yelling matches that insulted but never fixed anything, name calling aimed to hurt… it all paled in comparison to the shame he had felt inside that classroom as he listened to her tell him that he wasn't good enough.  She and Dean had spelled out clearly that this was the way he was and he'd never change.  He was stuck on a self-destructive path; repeating his senior year was only a minor detour.  Soon enough, he'd be back on it.  Except this time, he wouldn't have to worry about how his failures were affecting her.  She didn't care anymore.

"Jess, what is this?" 

"What's what?"  Jess asked, looking up from his book at his uncle.

"I asked you to set a table for us.  The food's almost ready."

"I did.  You're standing right in front of it.  Your vision okay?  Maybe you're just getting old…"

"My vision is just fine.  I see two plates, two cups, two forks, and two knives."

"Right," Jess said slowly.  "I'm failing to see the problem."

"The key word is two.  Why do we only have two settings?"

Jess placed his book down on the counter, and pointed to himself.  "One."  He gestured toward Luke.  "Two.  Would you like a recount?"

"Jess, you know Lorelai and Rory are coming, and they're going to be here any--"

"Wait.  Whoa.  Stop.  I did not know they were coming."

"You're kidding, right?  They come for Thanksgiving every year.  In fact, I can guarantee that when they walk through that door, they're going to have flowers.  And they're going to want to put said flowers in a vase.  A vase that I don't have.  A vase that I never have.  Why?  Because it's tradition.  It's done every year.  They came last year, and the year before that…"

"They did not come the year before last."

"Yes, they did.  You wouldn't know.  You skipped out on dinner."

"I did not," Jess insisted.

"Yes, you did.  You snuck out while I was cooking and spent the day defacing public property or doing something equally illegal.  Now, would you finish setting this table?  You may need more than two plates, you know how much they eat."  Luke turned back toward the kitchen but then spun around and spoke again, "You will be on your best behavior today."

"Ooh, stern voice.  I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to me like I was four."

"As long as you don't act like it."

"Excuse me?"

"No picking a fight with Rory."

"Give me a little credit."

"After that stunt you pulled at school?  All credit revoked.  Curb the sarcasm, and try to keep the conversation limited to 'pass the turkey', okay?"

Without waiting for some kind of positive answer, Luke walked back into the kitchen.  As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Jess turned and headed for the stairs, leaving the table only half set.  As soon as he reached the apartment, he went straight for his closet to get his coat.  If he could skip out on Thanksgiving once, he could do it again.  No one would miss him. 

There was no way he could stay.  After more than two weeks without seeing her, he had no idea how to act around her.  He couldn't remember how to be polite.  All his good intentions morphed into sarcasm and rudeness whenever he got too close.  He had wanted forgiveness from her.  He had done all he could think of to get it.  But apologies and kindness had fallen on deaf ears; she wouldn't let go of past mistakes.  Now, whenever he saw her, his anger flared up, and half the time, he couldn't help what flew out of his mouth. 

He needed to get the hell out of here.  He didn't need any kind frustration from her today, or any day.  Maybe she had had the right idea with staying away.  Maybe they should have gone with that solution from the start. 

He slipped on his coat, and was halfway to the door when the phone rang.  He froze in mid stride as irritation filled him.  Several seconds passed, but he made no move to pick it up — or to leave.  Something held him back, and this same something caused him to rush forward and answer the phone before the machine could turn on.

"Hello?"

Static filled the line as the person on the other end paused.  Jess was about to hang up when, "…Hi."

An unfamiliar feeling settled within his chest at the voice.  Hesitantly, he responded, "Hey."

"You know who this is?"

"You ask that every time you call."

"Haven't you ever had someone call you, and you have no idea who the person is, and they just assume you do?  And as each minute passes while the two of you talk, the less and less chance you have of finding out who the person is without making an ass out of yourself?"

"No," Jess answered.

"Oh."

"Jimmy, is there any particular reason for this call?"

"I just wanted to, uh, wish you a happy thanksgiving.  I hope you're having a good day, and the turkey's good, and the stuffing's good, and the rest of the food is…"

"Good?"

"Yeah.  Good... You eat yet?"

"No, Luke's downstairs cooking."

"You helping him?"

"With cooking?  No.  I just set up and clean up.  I'm… the busboy," Jess explained.

"Sounds like me.  Sasha just started cooking.  Lily's helping.  I'm hiding."

"Hiding?"

"I have bad luck with Thanksgiving.  Fires, electrocution, near misses with knives… I've got a history.  Hey, can you hold on a second?"  Jimmy asked, speaking louder as a female voice called his name.

Static filled the line once again, although muffled voices could be heard.  Jess couldn't make anything out, not that he wanted to.  He was hoping that this was the end of the conversation — not that he would use that word to describe… whatever this was.  These sporadic phone calls were an embodiment of Jimmy's guilt — they were an obligation that he felt he had to fulfill… making up for years and years of an absence.  Jess almost wished that he had never called Jimmy in the first place, or that he had refused the phone when Luke handed it to him… or that he had never gotten off that bus to the airport.

Thanksgiving in California.  Life in California.  He tortured himself with images of himself out there on the boardwalk, and he always saw himself happier.  For unknown reasons, California equaled a much better life in his mind.  Maybe because it was a change, a foreign territory out there, a whole new slew of possibilities that maybe, this time, he wouldn't screw up. 

"I've been recruited," Jimmy said.

"What?"

"I'm being forced to assist with the cooking.  This has disaster written all over it, but… yeah, hey, I'll talk to you some other time?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Bye, Jess."

He hung up without saying goodbye.  He moved toward his bed and sat down, feeling significantly worse than he had minutes ago, when he first came up the stairs.  He took off his jacket, not wanting to go out, but not wanting to go back down to the diner.  He was at an utter loss for what to do.

He could have repeated his senior year in Venice.  He could have gotten his GED.  He could have gotten a summer job at The Inferno.  He could have gotten to know his father.  Why was he still here in Stars Hollow?  He had nothing to anchor him to this small town, nothing holding him back.  If he saw himself happy three thousands miles away, why hadn't he hopped on a bus already? 

Running a hand through his hair, he stood up and exited the apartment.  He descended the stairs, and walked through the curtain just in time to see Rory and Lorelai passing by the window.  He took his place behind the counter, and reopened his book.  He turned to the last page he had read, doing his best to ignore his surroundings.  By the time the bell above the door rang, he was aware of only the clawing within his chest, and the knowledge that she was keeping him here.  He was staying for nothing.

"Here Luke, these are for you," Lorelai announced.

"Flowers?  What do I do with them?"  Rory asked.

"You put them in a vase, of course.  Don't we go through this every year?"

"This would stop if you stopped bringing me flowers," Rory answered.

"It would stop if you bought a vase."

"I don't need a vase because I don't have flowers."

"Except for when we bring you flowers.  Every year.  On Thanksgiving."

"Lorelai," Luke began, "Put the flowers on the counter."

"Luke, that was my line," Rory pouted.

"I think that's his way of saying we better end the show.  Fine, let us take our bow."  Lorelai and Rory both bent at the waist, exaggerating the gesture.  "This skit was a Gilmore&Gilmore production.  Lorelai Gilmore," she pointed to herself, "as Lorelai Gilmore.  And Rory as the grumpy old diner owner, Luke Danes."

"You're the second person to call me old today.  I'm beginning to think--"

"You're actually old?"  Lorelai cut in.

"No," Luke answered.  "That I need to surround myself with different people."

"You can get new friends after we eat," Lorelai said, following Luke back into the kitchen.

Without the balance of her mother and Luke, Rory was left standing in the middle of the diner, feeling awkward and very much alone.  She glanced over at Jess who still hid behind his book, and then looked over at the table.  A stiffness in her joints kept her from sitting down like on any other Thanksgiving at the diner.  It almost felt wrong to be here, after having stayed away for the past two weeks.  Once again she looked at Jess, as if waiting for some sign that it was alright to sit and relax — it was alright to pretend everything was fine.

This time around, he put the book down and held her gaze.  He said nothing, but moved forward toward the table.  She took the final steps over to where they would eat and sat down as he took a seat on the opposite side.  She looked away again, down at the plate in front of her, trying her best to suppress the memory of last year when he had sat next to her.  When he had kissed her.

When no words sprang to mind to fill the air, an icy silence formed instead.  She snuck small glances at him as she waited for her mother to come back out.  The dull ache that had been present for the past couple of weeks intensified with each passing second.  She rested her chin on her hand, racking her brain for the definition of normalcy when it came to Jess.  She couldn't remember how to be herself around him. 

Guilt mixed with the ache, as she thought back to their last encounter, and she knew that if she ever wanted things to be good again, she'd have to do something to make it better.  She needed to make him forgive her.

"Mashed potatoes?"  Lorelai asked, trailing on Luke's heels as the pair burst out of the kitchen.

"Yes."

"Green beans?"

"Lorelai, I promise you I have made everything we eat every year."

"Rolls?"

"Yes, now would you please just sit down…" 

"Cranberry sauce?"

"Cranberry sauce?"  Luke repeated. 

Lorelai gasped.  "Of course.  That's the best part."

"I thought you said dessert was the best part," Rory said, grateful that the balance in the diner had been restored.  She felt the ache recede a small amount, and almost smiled with relief.

"I did not.  I said Luke's cranberry sauce was the best part.  No one can open a jar and slice it like Luke can."

"I forgot to--"

"You forgot?"  Lorelai gasped again.  "I guess we'll have to cancel Thanksgiving this year."

"I didn't forget to buy it, I just forgot to get it out.  Jess, could you--"

"No."

"Would any one mind if I actually finished a sentence today?  Here, let me rephrase this:  Jess, go get the cranberry sauce while I finish putting the food out on the table that I finished setting.  It's in the storeroom."

"I--" Jess began.

"So everyone's clear, that was a nonnegotiable command."

"Whatever," Jess said, standing up. 

He walked into the storeroom, and headed for the shelves.  He scanned the items in front of him, searching for the cranberry sauce.  Seconds later, he heard footsteps behind him, but he pretended not to.  He kept his eyes in front of him, still looking for that damn can.

"Jess," Rory began.

He closed his eyes, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear this.  He felt her gaze on him, a prickling near his shoulders.  Slowly, it spread toward the center of his back, and he nearly flinched at the intensity.  He wanted to scratch at it, rid himself of the pressure point that had formed thanks to her, but he couldn't move.  He couldn't even run out there, away from her.  His legs refused to move, his knees wouldn't bend.  They felt wooden and useless. 

"When I said I wanted this over with, I meant the fighting, I didn't mean… us."

He wanted to point out that there was no "us", hadn't been for the longest time, but the words refused to come out.

"I'm sick of fighting with you, I'm sick of yelling at you, I'm sick of feeling this way.  But I hate not talking to you."

He wanted to tell her that she had been avoiding him, but then his own harsh voice came floating back to him:  "Don't talk to me."

"But I think this is the way you want it, so fine.  But before we go back out there to eat, and you pretend that I'm not there… I just wanted to say I'm sorry… for always blaming everything on you… and for ever making you feel like you weren't good enough.  That was never the problem, Jess, I swear.  I just…"

I just want to forgive you, but I can't.  I just want to move on from this, but something keeps holding me back.  I just want you to stop hating me.  I just want to be able to talk to you again.  I just…

He waited for her to complete her thought, but it never came.  Gradually, he regained the use of his limbs and turned around, only to find no one standing there.  Her voice still hung on his ear, whispering over and over again that she was sorry.  She missed talking to him.  She missed him.  He hadn't gone anywhere though.  He was still here, still living above the diner, still going to school, still walking around this town.  He was here because of her, and she was sorry for hurting him.  She was sorry. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the cranberry sauce.  His mind jumped to focusing on his previous task, and he grabbed it off the shelf.  He exited the storage room, and dropped the can onto the counter as Luke came out with the turkey.

Jess sat down at their table in a seat across from Rory.  She wasn't looking at him this time, but instead, concentrating on filling her plate with food. 

"This food looks really delicious.  You know, this year, I am thankful for Luke," Lorelai said, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"You're thankful for me every year," Luke pointed out.

"Yeah, well, keep up the good work.  You know what would make this table complete?"

"If you say cranberry sauce, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"Fine.  I will just sit here silently and eat, and wait patiently for you to prepare the food that must not be named."

"Good plan," Luke said, going back into the kitchen.

"You want something to drink?"  Jess suddenly asked.

Rory looked up and found him staring at her.  "A drink?"  It was almost as if his question confused her.

"Yeah, you want a soda?"

"Um, sure," she said.

"Hey, Jess, don't bother getting me anything while you're up," Lorelai said.

"Okay," he agreed, returning to the table, two sodas in tow.  He handed one to Rory, and kept the other for himself.

"I think you misunderstood me," Lorelai pouted.

"I heard you loud and clear," Jess assured her. 

"Fine, I'll get my own drink.  I'm also going to go make sure Luke is getting me my you know what.  He may not just to spite me."

"I doubt that," Rory said.

Her mother disappeared behind the swinging door, and once again, Rory was left as a bundle of nerves. 

"Thanks for the soda," she said quietly.

"No problem."  He paused as she picked up her fork to begin eating.  "You haven't been around the diner much lately."

She looked back at him in surprise, "You told me to leave you alone."

"I didn't say avoid the diner."

"I just thought it'd be easier."

"Right, easier."  He nodded.

She went back to eating, but he didn't touch his food.  There was more left to say, but he didn't know what it was.  The anger he had felt earlier, the ache and confusion at why he was still here had disappeared.  Because… because why?  She had said she was sorry?  He had accepted it?  Because he couldn't do anything about it otherwise?  Maybe he was still here because he really didn't want to leave.  Maybe he was holding out to see if things could get better, if that happiness he thought waited for him in California could be reached here. 

She had stopped him from leaving once.  Now, when the urge crept over him, she stopped him again.  Every time.  He could almost resent her for having this control over his life, but instead, he found himself trying to let go of the anger.  It still remained though, a tight ball in his chest that he couldn't shake.  Everything wasn't suddenly fine again, but despite this, he felt himself relaxing; he was almost at ease.  Yes, this was how he was supposed to feel around her.  This was how he was supposed to act.  This was how it should be… how it could be all the time.

"You should start coming around more."

His words caused her to look up from her plate, but before she could respond, Lorelai reappeared in the diner.  She took her seat next to Rory and placed a plate of food in front of her.  "Don't tell Luke, but I changed my mind.  This year, I'm thankful for the cranberry sauce.  Jess, what about you?"

"Forced involvement and false cheerfulness on holidays?"  He asked with a smirk.

"Yeah, funny.  Rory?  What are you thankful for?"

She shot a small smile toward Jess, before turning to her mother.

"Second chances."